


A Mirror Up to Nature

by breathtaken



Category: Critical Role (Web Series) RPF
Genre: BDSM, Body Image, Corsetry, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Feminization, Humiliation, Lingerie, M/M, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Small Penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: Liam’s a good guy. He assured Sam that size didn’t matter, right up until the moment Sam summoned up the courage to ask,what if I wanted it to?
Relationships: Liam O'Brien/Sam Riegel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: Mon petit ami





	1. Scorn Her Own Image

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as ever to the secret fort for giving me ideas and listening to me yell about them. Special thanks to Panda for the title. 
> 
> As usual, don't share this; let's keep it exclusively for the people who came looking for it.

****Sam’s cooking when Liam comes home. His timing’s pretty much perfect: Sam chose a classic Irish stew precisely because if they, uh, _ happened _ to abandon it for an hour or more, it would only get better. 

He’s done all his chopping and frying, deglazed the pan and is tying together a bundle of rosemary and thyme stalks with string when he hears footsteps behind him, large hands landing on his hips a moment later.

“Hi honey. That smells amazing,” Liam says, wrapping his arms around Sam’s stomach and kissing his neck.

“I’m afraid it will be at least an hour.” Sam squirms a little: Liam’s got a beard at the moment and it’s as pleasantly scratchy against his neck as he hopes it will be against other places later on.

“Then you’d better have some good ideas for distracting me,” Liam replies, and Sam grins as he teasingly shifts his hips a little against Liam’s crotch.

It’s exceedingly rare that they get the chance to play house like this, and when they do, they make the most of it.

“You’re insatiable. Okay, just let me finish this first,” Sam protests as he lifts the lid of the pot, inhaling appreciatively as he drops in the bundle of herbs. “Worcester sauce. Then can you open the drinking wine?”

“Yes darling,” Liam replies, sounding exceedingly put out at being asked to actually do something. 

Sam thumps him in the arm. “This is an egalitarian household, _ darling_. So get to work.”

He yelps when Liam smacks him in the ass with the dish towel.

For the next few minutes, they’re as quiet as they ever get as Sam mixes up the roux and gives the water and salt levels a final check. When he tastes the sauce Liam comes up behind him, covering Sam’s hand with his and moving the spoon to his own mouth afterwards.

“Done,” Sam announces once he’s satisfied. “For now, anyway.”

He tries to ignore the tension suddenly thrumming through the room, like a string pulled taut between them.

“If only we had a way to fill the time,” Liam murmurs, turning Sam in his embrace.

Sam’s blood is already rushing south in anticipation.

_ This _part of their relationship is still pretty novel, and even though it never could have happened until they were both ready for it, every time they touch each other like this there’s still an urgency to it, as if both of their bodies are scrambling to make up for fifteen years of lost time.

One day it will be easy, unhurried, but for now Liam kisses him with a single-minded intensity that seeks to learn every secret, as if Sam isn’t an open book to him already.

He shivers when Liam thumbs over his nipples through the thin fabric of his button-down, squeezing appreciatively, his own hands on Liam’s ass, keeping him close.

Then Liam reaches down to palm his crotch.

“You not enjoying yourself?” he asks, as if he can’t feel Sam’s dick there, already mostly-hard beneath his hand.

“Yeah I am,” Sam breathes, the moment suspended between them as the brakes come off, a split second from careening downhill. “Can’t you feel it?”

“No?” Liam frowns in mock-puzzlement, Sam’s heart slamming insistently against his ribcage. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

Liam’s a good guy. He assured Sam that size didn’t matter, right up until the moment Sam summoned up the courage to ask, _ what if I wanted it to? _

Liam moves his hands to the button of Sam’s slacks. “I think I’ll need to take a closer look.”

Sam holds his breath as Liam unbuttons him and slides his hand down, hitching a gasp when he cups him through the fabric.

“Well now,” Liam says – and then stops, drawing the moment out until Sam can’t bear it any longer.

Voice small, he asks, “It’s okay, right? My dick?”

“Oh, Sammy. I really don’t think you can call this a dick.” Liam’s tone is perfectly patronizing as he squeezes assessingly, Sam’s breath stuttering from his lungs. “Dicks are a lot bigger. And harder.”

“Well, this is the one I’ve got,” he manages, trying for joking but looking pleadingly at Liam as his hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, against his waist.

Liam smiles, and shakes his head. “Oh no. That’s not how it works, darling.” His fingers are still exploring, frustrating light, teasing touches, and Sam is working hard to hold back the whimpers that keep threatening. “Dicks are for fucking with, and I don’t think you could fuck _ anything _ with this, do you?”

Sam is silent, defeated, his face on fire.

Liam chuckles. “Thought not.” He scrapes his nails over the head, and this time Sam can’t hold back the sound. “I think this is a lovely little clit. Am I wrong?”

Sam can’t imagine being able to form words right now, the taboo still stronger than he is, but he manages to shake his head before closing his eyes and pressing his face into Liam’s shoulder.

“Hey. I’ve got you.” Liam’s other hand is a reassuring weight on the back of his neck. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. Cause that’s all this little clit of yours is good for, eh? Being pleasured.”

Sam whines against Liam’s neck, pulse thundering, body shaking as Liam slides one finger either side of his cockhead, pushing back and forth like he really is fingering him.

“I don’t know why you’re wearing these,” Liam says, plucking the waistband of Sam’s boxer briefs. “It’s not like you can fill them out. Luckily I got you something a bit more suitable.” He taps him on the ass. “Take them off.”

“Here?” Sam squeaks, wishing the ground would swallow him up a moment later when Liam laughs.

“I suppose we could take this to the bedroom first. Though if you want to get fucked you’re gonna have to ask for it _ real _nicely.”

“I’m very nice,” Sam says cheekily – and Liam pulls his slacks down and and spanks him firmly on the ass.

As Sam stares at him in shock, he just grins and says, “Why don’t you try that again with a bit less cheek.”

Liam’s _ never _done that to him before, and Sam can’t remember the last time he was this turned on.

“Please fuck me,” he whispers, dropping his eyes so he doesn’t have to look Liam in the face as he says it.

“See, you _ can _ask nicely,” Liam croons, caressing the cheek he just slapped. “Good girl.”

Sam’s brain abruptly short-circuits.

He lets Liam pull his pants back up and lead him up to his spare bedroom without a word, mind mostly static.

As soon as they’ve closed the door behind them, Liam sits on the end of the bed and looks at Sam expectantly. “Take them off.” When he starts to drop his eyes, hands going to his fly, Liam snaps his fingers. “Look at me while you do it.”

Face burning and hands shaking, Sam does as he’s told.

When he steps out of his boxers, Liam beckons him forwards, drawing Sam between his legs. He lifts the tails of his shirt and kisses his belly, chin just missing his cock, as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Lift your leg.”

As Sam lifts one leg and then the other, feels the gentle scratch of the fabric as Liam pulls it up, he knows what this is without even needing to look.

He holds his breath as Liam puts the panties on him, stroking along the line of the fabric where it’s cut high across Sam’s ass.

“Look,” Liam says, and though his voice is quiet, it rings in Sam’s ears.

He looks down.

The panties are black lace and satin – _ classy, _ Sam decides, and immediately stumbles over his own thought because he hadn’t dared imagine too far ahead when he agreed to this, but he supposes he’d sort of expected any women’s clothing on him to be at least faintly ridiculous.

This isn’t like that. This is more serious than he’d ever expected, Liam’s dark eyes and his own dry mouth as he watches Liam’s hand, one finger either side of his little dick and squeezing again, and the small noise in the back of his own throat, like he’s been struck.

Is this why guys do this, then, because it feels so much _ more – _

“There. Isn’t that better?”

He can imagine Liam in an expensive store, eyes scanning rows of decadent fabrics, imagining dressing him up, and it’s almost too much for his mind to contain.

“Fuck,” Sam breathes, eyes wide, as Liam smiles a little crookedly and pulls him down for a long, lingering kiss. 

“Get on the bed,” he says, and gropes Sam’s ass as he crawls up the mattress.

Liam crawls over him, a gleam in his eyes, and sits astride Sam’s hips as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’ve got gorgeous tits?” he asks, reaching inside the shirt to squeeze one of Sam’s pecs, rolling the nipple with his thumb, then pinching hard until Sam gasps.

“No, they didn’t,” Sam replies, quite truthfully.

“Well, you do,” Liam continues, shifting back down Sam’s body as he reaches the lower buttons, deftly avoiding any stimulation to his cock. “Gorgeous tits.” He opens Sam’s shirt, pushing it back off his chest, and Sam’s never cared much about being topless but with the hunger in Liam’s gaze there’s a new frisson of exposure this time. “A gorgeous little clit.” He speaks the words so close to Sam’s dick that Sam can feel his hot breath through the fabric. “What else, baby girl?”

He can’t say the words, but Sam _ knows _ them, can feel them on every inch of his too-hot, too-tight skin.

When nothing comes out, Liam fingers him through the satin and says, gaze like a brand, “And a gorgeous tight cunt, of course.” 

When he puts his mouth over Sam’s dick through the fabric, Sam moans aloud, his head falling back to the pillow with a slam as he places a gentle hand on Liam’s head, the other a fist in the sheets, trying desperately to anchor himself.

“You’re killing me here,” he manages a few seconds later, as Liam pulls back, licking his lips.

He just smiles. “You say that now. I haven’t even gotten you wet yet.”

“Oh Jesus,” Sam murmurs. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when Liam hikes up one of his legs and smacks his thigh, the skin stinging.

“I want you pretty, not smart,” he says mildly. “Forearms and knees. Ass in the air. Take the shirt off.”

Sam sits up as Liam stands beside the bed, removing his pants. There’s a telltale bulge in his boxers. “See something you like?” 

“Yeah,” Sam admits, mouth dry and a little lost for words. He doesn’t know how to be funny like this, with Liam stripping him open and pressing every button he can find, seemingly just to see what happens, can only follow his lead and hope to keep his head above water.

“Dirty girl.” The words go straight to Sam’s dick as Liam grips himself. “Would you like a little taste?”

“Yeah. Please.” Sam nods hurriedly, as if he’s worried the offer will be snatched away again.

As soon as he gets close enough Liam puts a hand on his jaw, gripping it as he pulls his cock free: bigger and harder than Sam’s will ever be, a few shades darker than the rest of his skin. When Sam tries to chase it with his lips, he’s held firmly in place; instead Liam rubs it against the smooth skin of his cheeks before finally bringing it close enough to kiss, letting Sam suckle the head for a few moments before pulling away.

“I think that’s enough,” he says, tucking himself away again. “Don’t wanna get distracted.” He smacks Sam’s ass again, none too gently. “Position.”

It’s easier to just go than to think or to question, so Sam goes, dropping his head to the pillow and arching his back just to hear Liam say, “_Oh _ yeah, just like that, baby.” His voice is further away, and when Sam tries to turn his head, he hears Liam’s voice say, “No peeking,” soft footsteps, the click of a bottle cap. 

He sort of knows what’s coming – or thinks he does, but when the mattress shifts behind him and Liam reaches inside his panties, it’s not to circle round his hole but to smooth along his cock, and it’s _ very _ slick indeed.

“Oh, baby. So wet for me,” Liam purrs, his other hand on Sam’s hip, steadying him, and it’s such a transparent move but it doesn’t matter, Liam is rubbing the pads of three slippery fingers back and forth over the head of Sam’s dick like it’s really a clit and Sam half-believes in it himself.

Liam’s touching him properly at _ last, _and Sam’s moaning now in earnest, trying to grind down into Liam’s hand before he gets a firm tap on his dick in warning, and decides not to push his luck too far. 

“God, you’re _ dripping. _I should have known you’d ruin these panties as soon as I put them on you,” Liam’s saying, fingers sliding back at last and circling his hole, Sam sucking in a breath as he pushes the tip of one finger inside.

His mobility is seriously limited, but Sam doesn’t give a shit: it feels dirtier like this, too firm and too slippery and nothing like he’s ever been touched before, Liam alternating between working him open and fingering his – well – _ there, _new and strange and just this side of too much, cause he’s more than aware he’s gotta get fucked after this too.

When Liam asks, “You holding out on me, baby?”, for a moment he doesn’t know what to say.

“Don’t wanna come too soon,” he replies, expecting that will explain everything; but Liam just chuckles and slides his fingers forward again.

“Oh, I’m not gonna fuck you till you do.” Sam can hear the smile in his voice, and feels an answering flutter of anxiety in his own chest. “I know how to treat my girl right.” 

“Liam. Seriously.”

Liam’s hand stops moving.

“Seriously. Will you try it for me?”

Sam hesitates. 

If it’s _ really _ too much, he knows Liam will stop the moment he says the word.

So what is he worried about? _ Failing? _

It’s just sex. They can’t fail at sex, not in a way that matters.

He takes a deep breath, and says, “Yeah. Okay.”

“_That’s _my good girl,” Liam croons, and Sam closes his eyes and pushes his face into the pillow, overwhelmed. “You’re soaking, Sammy. Are you gonna come for me?” When he doesn’t reply, just moans, Liam adds, “I’ll let you come if you can tell me how you want it. Do you want my fingers on your clit or in your cunt?”

“On my – my clit,” Sam says hoarsely. With his face buried in the crook of his arm and Liam’s other hand rubbing slow circles on his hip, he can just about bring himself to say the words he knows Liam wants to hear. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Liam replies, and speeds up his fingers. 

There’s one either side of Sam’s – his _ clit, _ squeezing as they slide, and one rubbing back and forth over where he’s most sensitive, and it’s only now Liam’s fingering him in earnest that Sam realizes just how much he was holding back.

He can feel the heat building in him, but he needs – he _ needs _–

“Talk to me?”

“Mm. I wish you could see what I see.” Liam’s other hand strokes appreciatively over his curves. “Your pretty ass in these pretty panties you’re soaking through. Gonna dress you up proper next time. Dress you up and eat you out, and then I’m gonna –”

With a cry, Sam comes in a flood over Liam’s fingers.

His own breathing is a roar in his ears, the next thing he knows is the scratch of Liam easing the panties half way down his thighs, nudging his legs a little wider to keep them taut.

He feels the mattress shifting but doesn’t entirely register it, still strung out on a haze of arousal, and nearly jerks off the bed when Liam’s mouth suddenly lands on him, licking him clean, strong hands clamping around his thighs when he tries to squirm away.

“Shh. Just take it, baby.” He’s so oversensitized that Liam’s breath against his clit feels like a caress in itself, and he realizes he’s whimpering, over and over. “Let me clean you up.”

“You take such good care of me.” Sam slurs as Liam finally eases off. He normally comes down pretty quickly after an orgasm, but the extra attention has him strung out in a way that’s wholly new. 

“Of course. You’re my gorgeous girl,” Liam says simply, and this may be a game they’re playing but Sam knows the affection in his voice is real, and wants to wrap it around himself like a blanket, let it keep him safe. “Are you ready for my cock?”

“Yeah."

“Then roll over. Pillow under your ass. I want to see your pretty face while I fuck you.”

Dazed, Sam does as he’s told, and is treated to a view of Liam stripping, the lamplight playing across the soft lines of his body. He isn’t used to this yet, to wanting it or to getting it, and he can’t help staring, breath hitching when Liam looks back at him.

“Look at you,” he murmurs; and if he’s honest Sam doesn’t see what’s so great about a middle-aged man with a thick midsection and panties around his thighs, cock nestled soft and impotent above it, but he supposes there’s no accounting for taste.

He smiles and says, “Look at _ you,_” nodding towards the subtle definition of Liam’s muscles, the heavy promise of his cock.

Liam makes an awkward little noise that might be a laugh or might be a scoff, and busies himself getting something from the nightstand, Sam hearing the rip of a foil packet a moment later.

“Don’t want any accidents,” Liam says as he rolls the condom on, and when Sam realizes just what kind of_ accidents _he means, it’s like being struck.

“Don’t you want to breed me?” he says in response, because he is an idiot, and well, Liam started it.

Liam chuckles as he climbs up onto the bed. “Don’t give me ideas.” He yanks the panties off none too gently, and hikes Sam’s legs up to his chest. “Open up for me, gorgeous.”

Liam grips his thighs, and in one smooth, practised motion, pushes in right to the hilt.

Sam shrieks.

It’s – they’ve done this before, but not a _ lot_, and always inch by inch, he’s always had more _ time _ –

But he supposes that isn’t how one would fuck a _ woman. _

Liam’s stopped, he realizes, leaning forwards and bracing himself over Sam’s body with a look of concern, and Sam takes the opportunity to grope his biceps before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Fuck me,” he says against Liam’s lips, clearly and distinctly, and Liam groans like Sam’s just punched him, and moves his hips.

He’s not got much purchase in this position, which is good because from the first drag of Liam’s cock inside him, Sam already feels like he’s dancing on the knife edge of _ really _ too much as Liam keeps moving, keeps kissing him, swallowing his litany of whines and whimpers like he’s feeding off them, the thrust of his hips relentless.

Then Liam shifts their positions, levering himself further upright with the pressure on Sam’s thighs nearly bending him double; and at first Sam’s mostly-inclined to drag him back down for more kissing but then he feels a new heat building alongside the sharpness, radiating out through the base of his spine in waves until it’s flowing all the way to his fingertips where they’re gripping Liam’s waist, his head falling back as his eyes close, mouth tipping open in pleasure.

Is this his prostate, because sweet God _ damn. _

It’s like being electrified. It makes everything he’s feeling heightened, the top notes of sensation just as acute but underpinned by new warm waves of pleasure, and Sam just lets go and lets them carry him, knowing that Liam has him.

He’s vaguely aware of Liam talking to him, something something _hot tight gorgeous _and his groans of pleasure, but he isn’t listening, just floating on the sensation that’s humming beneath his skin, the delicious drag of Liam’s cock in his ass, his hands on Sam’s thighs, wants those hands everywhere, everything Liam’s and nothing without.

He only realizes Liam must have come when he stops moving and all but collapses onto Sam, cock slipping free and leaving Sam empty. Liam’s kiss is too hard and too forceful and he gentles it, slows him down, eventually blinking his eyes open and smiling dopily up at him, the warm tides receding.

“Sammy. Did I actually fuck you stupid?” Liam says, and his smile’s both smug and impossibly tender.

“Did you –” For a moment he stumbles, really can’t figure out how to put words in any order. “Have you known about that this whole time? And didn’t tell me?”

Liam laughs, rolling to one side so he’s only half lying on top of Sam. “I think I actually did once, but you weren’t listening. How did it feel?”

“…like being in the world’s best hot tub, but sexy.” 

Liam’s hand is everywhere, stroking over Sam’s shoulders and chest and stomach, and even though Sam’s sweaty it still feels _ wonderful. _“Did you come again?”

Sam frowns. “Maybe? I don’t think so. It just felt really good.” He thinks for a moment. “I hope you realize I’m basically gonna be insatiable now.”

“Well, you’ve always been the slutty one,” Liam says lightly, sticking out his tongue when Sam boops him on the nose. “And – the rest of it? Is it what you wanted?”

“Yeah. Pretty much perfect.” This part’s embarrassing, it always is, but Sam’s old enough to know that getting what you want can only be preceded by asking for it. “I – really liked the panties.”

“Good, cause I really did too.” Liam’s voice drops low. “So much so that I got a second pair for you to wear for me during dinner. If you’d like?”

Sam kisses him, hard, partly to try and hide his burning cheeks. “Yeah.”

But Liam knows him far too well for that, and he looks at Sam carefully as he says, “You don’t have to stop being my girl just yet. If you don’t want to.”

As usual, Liam’s two steps ahead of him, waiting at a fork in the road Sam didn’t even know was there, and holding out his hand.

Kinky sex is something Sam thinks he understands. But when everyone’s had their fun and put their clothes back on, what, exactly, are they still doing?

It scares him that he doesn’t know, and that he thinks he might want to.

So instead, he laughs. 

“I don’t think I could get it up again tonight, _ husband. _ Not even for you.”

When Liam just looks at him levelly and says, “Sam,” he feels abruptly ashamed, and not in the good way.

He should know better than to try and hide from him, but. Here they are.

“Don’t do that,” Liam says, one hand stroking his jaw, dark eyes warm with empathy. “Just tell me what’s going on in here.” He taps Sam’s temple with two fingers, the same fingers that have touched every part of his body, why is it so hard to let Liam into this too?

He takes a deep breath; when he lets it out it’s more of a sigh. “I need to think about it.” It’s true, at least; he doesn’t want to try and explain this to Liam without at least understanding it a little himself first. “The rest of it, that is. I’ll wear the panties.”

“Good. I’d like that,” Liam says, and the heat in his gaze is enough to make Sam shiver.

They shower, one after the other because Liam is a water hog, and Sam very carefully doesn’t let himself overthink it when Liam dries him off and dresses him in a fresh pair of panties, deep plum satin with cream lace edging, and something inside Sam chafes against the reverence in his gaze as he arranges the fabric over Sam’s hips with the meticulousness of an artist.

Sam’s spent his entire life on stage. He wears ridiculous outfits of his own volition on a regular basis. He’s certainly no stranger to being looked at.

So what, exactly, is the problem?


	2. Virtue Her Own Feature

Sam thinks about it over the next few weeks. Sort of.

Well, he jerks off as much as he can find the time for, with the energy of a man twenty years younger who still gets a full eight hours’ sleep a night.

But that slow, satiated moment afterwards, when Liam asked him if he wanted to keep being his girl?

He thinks about that part as little as possible.

There’s only one person he could talk to about this, but she’s on a shoot for the next two weeks and he doesn’t feel right about trying to do it on the phone. Or really comfortable talking to her in any detail about what he does with Liam; their arrangement isn’t _ new _ new any more but it’s hardly old hat either, and a small part of him is still terrified of it all falling apart if he makes any hasty moves. 

So he pours all his energy into work, solo parenting and the game, which conveniently take up pretty much all the energy he has between them anyway.

The weeks pass, Q comes back home, and Liam doesn’t mention it again; Sam can’t quite decide if he thinks Liam’s also feeling things hanging unresolved between them, or if it’s simply his own paranoia. Their next date night is actually an afternoon, a last-minute gap in both their schedules where they have some very nice blow jobs, scarf down dinner together and head over to the studio for Talks, where Sam waits until Liam’s drinking before he gleefully tells Brian about the thing Liam does with his tongue just to make him spit-take.

After that, Sam genuinely forgets until a few days before their next date night, when Liam texts him an unfamiliar address and the words, _ Wear something purple? _

_ Then _ he remembers, with a mixture of unease and arousal that he isn’t sure he wants to try and quantify.

But what’s he gonna do, run from this forever?

Liam, to his eternal credit, has been into everything Sam’s found the courage to suggest to him so far, and is probably also into a couple things he hasn’t; and Sam thinks that for his part, he’d try pretty much anything at least once if it was Liam who suggested it.

So he asks, _ Should I wear anything else with those, or? _

_ I’ve got it covered, _ Liam replies – and _ holy shit, _ Sam remembers him talking about dressing him up at some point but he thought it was just dirty talk, he didn’t think Liam really _ meant _it –

As he stares at his phone, Liam starts typing again.

Sam’s breath is tight in his chest until the message appears:

_ And please bring a decent knife. It’s an AirBnB _

He takes a moment to laugh at himself before texting back, _ Consider me warned. _

Three evenings later he meets Liam outside an unfamiliar apartment block in Chinatown, where he’s struggling with a key safe. He’s wearing a shirt and tie with a leather jacket over the top, smooth-shaven this time and without his glasses on, and he looks good enough to eat.

“Well, this feels illicit,” Sam says, in lieu of a greeting.

Liam grins. “Would you like to be my dirty little secret?”

There’s a weird pause after he says it, like he _ was _ joking but he might actually _ not _be, if Sam isn’t either; Sam belatedly recognizes it as the sound of him having missed his cue.

He hastily slaps on a thinky face. “Nah.” It feels weird, and not good weird, when he thinks they’re both happy to just be as open as they can, the world being what it is.

“‘Kay. You’re just my husband then. And occasionally my girlfriend,” Liam says lightly, getting the key safe open before Sam can figure out what to say in response, and unlocking the block door.

The building is – well. There’s nothing actually _ wrong _with it, no smell of urine or suspicious stains on the concrete floor, but it looks a lot like some of the places Sam lived in his early twenties, before having actual money was a thing.

Liam says, “I’m having distinct flashbacks to college.”

“Don’t worry. I came armed.”

Liam has a bag with him too, slung over one shoulder; Sam follows him up three flights of stairs, and tries not to theorize about the contents.

The apartment itself is a not-too-terrible studio, if more than a little impersonal in the way that rented places are, and he hoists his shopping bags onto the far-too-small kitchen counter as Liam turns on the lamps and sits down on the end of the bed, which is only about ten feet from where Sam’s standing.

He says, “If your kink is age regression, I’m leaving.”

Liam laughs. “I don’t feel the need to relive that again. Are we cooking now or cooking later?”

“Later. I’m just doing pasta.” Sam figured that even in the most basic of kitchens, it’s generally possible to make a decent pasta. 

“Wine?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t think he could have gone through with this with anyone but Liam, not at this stage in his life. He can’t imagine having to say out loud all the things that he knows Liam will understand just by observing: that the good wine needs to breathe, and that he brought the okay wine not because he expects them to drink two bottles of wine tonight, but because he needs to already have a drink in his hand for the next bit.

There aren’t any wine glasses in the cupboards, because of course there aren’t. He chooses tumblers over champagne flutes.

He brings Liam over a tumbler of wine, sits down beside him on the slightly shitty mattress, and clinks his own glass against his. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Liam echoes, and Sam’s hand lingers for a moment at the base of his throat, knuckles brushing the silk of his pale yellow tie.

The first few moments are always a bit weird, remembering all over again that they do this now, that he _ can, _Liam’s other hand on his jaw and Liam’s eyes, never looking away from his.

This time Sam kisses him first, without even touching his wine.

“I feel under-dressed,” he says, smoothing his other hand down the front of Liam’s jacket, brushing away some imaginary dust.

“I can help you with that.” Liam’s fingers are at his waist, dipping down below his waistband, and Sam watches him grin when he finds lace edging below. “If you’d like?”

Sam nods, nerves suddenly hitting him full-force, for the first time this evening. “Glad I didn’t shave my legs for nothing.”

“Always committed to the bit,” Liam agrees, but his eyes are hungry. “Can I show you?”

Sam moves over as Liam reaches into his bag, laying out between them, in order: a white shirt, unrealistically tailored, a black pencil skirt with a feminine flare at the hem; thigh-high stockings; and – _ oh. _

A corset, in delicate pale pink satin, which Sam supposes explains the tailoring on the shirt.

And just when he thinks Liam’s done he reaches down again and pulls out _ shoes _too, black patent leather stilettos with a pointed toe.

They know each other pretty damn well by now, but up until this moment Sam would have said it wasn’t quite _ know-each-other’s-measurements _kind of well.

“Did Quyen help you with this?” he accuses, to try and hide the shakiness in his voice. 

Liam grins. “A gentleman never tells,” he replies, which of course means yes.

Instead of deciding how he feels about his wife conspiring with his husband to dress him up all sexy, Sam elects to take a large drink.

He supposes that at least this will get him out of figuring out how much he wants to tell her.

He drains his glass quicker than he means to, and Liam takes it gently from his hands.

“Stand up?”

Liam shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, before pulling Sam close and kissing him, not stopping as he strips him down to his panties – which is good, because it’s easier to be kissed than just stand there and watch yourself be looked at, especially when he’s nearly naked and Liam’s still fully-dressed. 

He gasps when Liam cups him through the satin, stroking over the head of his dick with his thumb, and pushes his hips forward to meet his hand.

“Mmm. Not yet, baby.” Liam gives his dick one final caress before letting go. “Let’s get you dressed first. Arms up.” 

Sam’s worn a lot of different kinds of outfits in his life, but never a corset, and as Liam wraps it around his stomach and closes up the line of clasps at the front, he’s surprised by just how _ strong _ it is, from just below his pecs to just above his hipbones, immediately forcing his back straighter.

Then Liam gets up, turning Sam in his arms before starting to work on the lacing, and the first time he pulls on the laces the breath is shocked from Sam’s lungs, because holy _ shit _he didn’t even know it was gonna get tighter until it did.

“Okay?” Liam asks, pausing with a warm hand between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah.”

He is, actually; okay, he doesn’t have a lot of space to breathe, but it doesn’t hurt or anything. The close, steady pressure is almost reassuring.

“Little bit tighter for me?”

“Sure.” This time he’s prepared, and when Liam pulls until it’s _ tight, _he has to brace himself.

“There. How does it feel?” Liam asks, as he ties the laces off.

“Tight. But good tight. I think?” Sam looks down, smoothing his hands over the satin – it’s given him a gentle curve at his waist that wasn’t there before, and his heart kicks up a gear when he thinks that Liam is taking him and making him into something different for a little while. “Have you tried–?”

“Yeah.” Liam moulds himself to Sam’s back, hands landing on his waist, the new hardness against his ass _ very _apparent. “I needed to fit the shirt. It felt good. But not nearly as good as you look.”

He’s sliding his hands up and down, learning the new curves of Sam’s waist as he kisses his shoulder, the nape of his neck, fingers dragging up over the hem of the satin until he’s cupping Sam’s chest.

“_Oh,_” he breathes as he discovers that his legs aren’t the only thing Sam’s shaved for tonight.

Sam lets out a harsh puff of air when Liam rubs his thumbs over his nipples. “You’ve got gorgeous tits, baby.” He squeezes and pinches until Sam’s breathless and a little crazy, wondering if he should in fact have been paying more attention to his nipples all these years. “It’s almost a shame to cover them up. But I want to see you all dressed up even more.”

Next come the stockings, with a seam running down the back like something from a forties movie. Liam kneels before him to roll them up his silky-smooth legs one by one, kissing just above the lace, and and just as Sam starts to wonder if he’s forgotten about a garter belt entirely Liam brings out a set of loose suspenders and hooks them into loops on the bottom edge of the corset that Sam hadn’t even noticed. He fastens the front two suspenders to the stocking tops, pressing a single kiss to the damp spot on the front of the panties before spinning Sam round again, and Sam grits his teeth against the temptation to call him a tease because he already knows what the result of that would be.

Liam insists on doing everything for him, even pulling the shirtsleeves onto Sam’s arms and batting his hands away when he tries to do up the buttons himself, the fit nothing short of perfect over the corset. All Sam has to do is step into the skirt, and he half-thinks that if Liam could have done that for him too then he would.

“Sit down for me,” Liam says once the skirt’s fastened, and – _ okay, _that’s different, Sam had never realized how important it is to be able to bend at the waist until he can’t any more, and he has to hinge his hips and sits down a little too hard.

Liam doesn’t say a word, though, getting back on his knees and taking Sam’s feet in his hands one at a time, slipping his heels on.

“Can I do your face a bit?”

“Sure?” Sam replies. His mouth is dry.

‘A bit’ means kohl, smudged along the outer corners of his eyes with Liam’s fingers, mascara and lipstick, a muted pink colour that Sam can’t imagine looks like much of anything, but Liam’s expression is intent as he applies it onto Sam’s lips. 

“There.” He presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. “Do you wanna see?”

Sam isn’t entirely sure he does.

“I’d rather you touched me,” he says, voice pitched just a shade higher than natural – and Liam’s expression says he isn’t fooled but he climbs into Sam’s lap anyway, thighs slotting against the curve of his waist, one hand gripping the base of his neck.

“I’ll be very unhappy if you smudge your lipstick,” he murmurs, and puts his lips to Sam’s jaw.

Maybe that’s what does it: not being able to use his mouth, having to stay conscious of what he’s doing and not lose himself in it, which when he’s already feeling uncertain just makes it worse.

He’s gripping Liam’s thighs, not sure where to put his hands as Liam slides his own hands down Sam’s shoulders, groping his chest – and with a hot flush of emotion Sam suddenly yearns to slap his hands away and say, _ who do you think you’re kidding anyway? _

All he says out loud is, “Liam,” but Liam can read him like a book and that’s enough.

When their eyes meet he drops his hands, curling them lightly over Sam’s.

“Do you want me to get off?” he asks, and he sounds so _ fucking careful,_ Sam hates it.

He sighs. “No.” His hands tighten on Liam’s thighs just in case he gets any ideas. “I just. I don’t know.”

Liam kisses his cheek, and then taps Sam’s temple. “Tell me what’s going on in there? Even if it doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure we can figure it out together.”

“Between us we are almost as smart as one person,” Sam agrees. “It’s not that I’m not enjoying myself.”

“But.” 

“But. It’s not _ real, _ ” Sam argues – _ frustrated, _ though he couldn’t say for certain by who or what, as Liam looks at him levelly. “I’m not a woman. I’ll never _ be _ a woman. I don’t have tits or a clit. You can put lipstick on a pig–”

He snaps his mouth shut.

He thinks he said that expecting it would be funny, but it’s really not.

Gently, Liam says, “D’you wanna know what I think?” When Sam nods, he continues, “I think you look sexy. I think you look as sexy in lingerie as you do in a suit. And your body’s absolutely fine, but the reason I _ really _ like it is because it’s yours, and I’m in love with you.” He leans in and nudges Sam’s nose with his before kissing him. “I like your dick because of the noises you make when I touch it, and I like your kinks because you’re not only letting me inside your body, you’re letting me inside your head. And _ that _ is pretty fucking sexy.”

Sam thinks: if Liam had told him he had a hot body, he would have laughed. But he can’t argue with this. 

He always knows exactly what Sam needs to hear, even when he doesn’t know himself.

Sam sighs again, and rests his forehead against Liam’s. “I’m trying. It’s just – difficult, sometimes.”

“I know you are. And these things don’t come from nowhere.” Liam unpicks Sam’s grip on his thighs and takes his hands in his. “They tend to be tied into a lot of other stuff. So it may take a couple tries before we get it down.”

Sam huffs. He feels not unlike a kid having a tantrum. “You know, I was a bit of a slut in college.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “So your wife tells me.”

“I figured out that girls don’t care how big your dick is if you eat them out for forty minutes first.” Liam chuckles, and for a moment they just grin at each other like two little boys, delighted by their own knowledge.

Then Sam says – gently, he doesn’t want Liam to take this the wrong way – “It’s different with you.”

Liam gives him a look. “Nah, I’m pretty sure that trick would work on me too.” He rubs a thumb over Sam’s knuckles. “Remember, I’m just your idiot best friend. The real mystery here is what either of our wives see in us.”

Sam grins, relieved. “Well, I’ve been trying to figure that one out for twenty years.”

“Let me know if you crack it,” Liam says, and kisses him properly, until he tastes his own lipstick.

“I thought you said not to smudge it,” Sam points out at length, stroking a finger over the telltale shimmer on Liam’s upper lip.

“I told _ you _ not to smudge it,” Liam retorts. “I put no restrictions on myself.” He drags his fingers down one of the satin panels of the corset, so that Sam feels it. “Do you wanna keep this on? I have it on good authority that it feels _ awesome _when you come.”

Sam says, “You mean you jerked off in it.”

“Of course I jerked off in it,” Liam replies, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Do unto others, et cetera.”

“Is that a promise?”

In response, Liam puts pretty much all his body weight into pushing Sam down to the mattress.

“How kinky do you want this?” he asks, sitting astride Sam’s hips, the hands on his shoulders still holding him down, trapping him in place.

“Um. Kinky’s good?”

“Good. Cause I remember promising to dress you up and eat you out. And so far we’ve only managed the dressing up part.”

“Well, I’d be heartbroken if you broke a promise,” Sam quips, newly breathless as Liam leans forward and kisses his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his chest.

He lifts his hips as Liam slides down his body, and pushes Sam’s skirt up around his waist, hissing when Liam cups him over his panties.

Sam smacks him in the back of the head when he says, “Hey, I think I found the clitoris,” but any retort he might have made dies on his lips when Liam bends his head and mouths at him through the satin.

Liam’s letting his hair grow longer on top, long enough for Sam to catch a few locks between his fingers as he pulls a lumpy pillow under his head with his other hand, so that he can watch as Liam pulls his panties down enough to bare his cock, and then covers it with his mouth.

You can’t _ quite _ suck a dick like you lick a clit, but Liam gives it a pretty good go all the same, then licking broad stripes from base to tip, then suckling the head, flicking the slit with his tongue. Sam feels like he can’t quite catch his breath, probably because he can’t, and lets Liam hear just how much he’s enjoying himself, because there’s still a small voice in the back of his head that’s saying, _ what if he thinks you’re not? _

He may never make it in porn but they’re doing pretty well all the same, Liam’s eyes are closed and he’s making little _ mm-mm _ noises like this is getting him off just as much. Sam’s got both hands on Liam’s head, scratching his scalp as heat builds steadily in his belly and his own breathing comes harsh and fast in his ears, and when Liam flicks his eyes up at him and half-opens his mouth so that Sam can see his tongue moving against his cock, that’s enough for him to groan and come messily all over his lips.

As always, Liam licks him clean until Sam can’t take it any more and starts pushing his head away, and then tucks him back in, skirt still crumpled around his hips. “Gorgeous,” he says, running a hand down his leg to where smooth skin meets lace, and Sam looks down at his own heaving chest and his sexy underwear and thinks that if Liam can believe in this, then maybe he can try to as well.

He asks, “D’you wanna see my party trick?”

When he eventually goes into the bathroom to wash his face, he’s forgotten – until he clicks on the light and is taken aback for a moment by the surprisingly large mirror above the sink, and the way he looks in it: his eyes defined and enhanced, a little shimmer still smeared around his lips, his sweat-damp shirt and the new curves of his waist just making his shoulders look even broader by comparison, which he doesn’t think was entirely the intention.

“I look like my sister,” he calls out, and gets back an immediate, “You wish!”

Once he’s washed, dried off and brushed his teeth for good measure, Liam appears in the doorway in shirt and boxers, stepping in and leaning his head against Sam’s shoulder. “Hungry?”

“Hmm. Not really.”

“You will be once that comes off.” Liam’s hand has found the curve of his waist again, and Sam watches the movement of his fingers in the mirror. “So. I found a bar. Where they really don’t mind what people are wearing.” Sam’s eyes find Liam’s; he tries not to look at himself. “If you ever wanted to go for a drink somewhere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sam says, and makes himself add, “It’s – a bit early. For me.”

“I know. I just wanted to put the idea in your head.” Liam kisses his neck, leading him back into the room before starting to unfasten his skirt. “You know, this can be whatever you want it to.”

“I know.” Which is kind of the problem. “I’m not –” it feels vaguely silly to say, but – “I’m a man. I’m not transgender.”

He doesn’t know what he expected; but Liam just nods, tapping Sam’s legs until he steps out of the skirt, before starting to work on his shirt buttons. “We don’t always know what we want, but we always know what we _ don’t _ want. And the things that are left, we can give them a go.”

“Yeah. I’m not trying to _ actually _feel like a woman. And – I only want to share this with you. I think.”

“Q?” Liam asks lightly – and _ there’s _a thing they don’t talk about for sure, except maybe they should, a little. 

“Oh, she knows. We have – our own things. You know. Similar. But not quite the same.” He lets out a sigh of relief as Liam undoes the lacing of the corset. “_God, _that’s better.”

“Taliesin once told me that half the joy of corsetry is taking it off again at the end of the night,” Liam replies. “I didn’t tell her what I wanted your measurements _ for._”

Sam shrugs. “I’ll probably tell her anyway.” If he’s lucky, she might fuck him while he does.

“But anyway, my point is: let’s just try the things we want to try. No need to overthink it.” Liam undoes the clasps at the front of the corset and pulls it away, and Sam shivers when he strokes a reverent finger down one of the lines it’s left in his skin.

“I’d just like to point out that this is _ you _ telling _ me _ not to overthink something,” Sam says, putting his hands on Liam’s waist and pulling him in.

“Well, I should know.” He smacks Sam gently on the ass. “Come on. Dinner. Man cannot live by come alone.”

“Has he tried?” Sam asks, and then, “Can I at least put some clothes on first?”

“Well, if you insist.” Liam pouts, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “Though I was enjoying the view.” 

“You can enjoy it again later,” Sam replies, starting to dress himself again, watching Liam unpack the shopping bags and make himself at home in the weird little kitchen, pouring them another two tumblers of okay wine, and withholding Sam’s drink until he trades it for a kiss.

(He keeps the panties on.)


	3. The Very Age and Body Of the Time

The seconds drag on interminably as Sam sits at the end of the hotel bed, looking down at his clasped hands resting in the lap of his skirt, his smooth stockinged legs and the patent leather of his stiletto heels flashing as he crosses his ankles, the reflection of the overhead lights a little too bright.

Everything about this feels a little too bright, too immediate and too _ real, _but there’s no way he’s gonna back out now.

Liam comes out of the bathroom wearing a plum shirt and a tie that’s a few shades paler, giving him a careful smile; and Sam knows that if he called this whole thing off right now, Liam would hike up his skirt and fuck him until he was an incoherent mess, and never mention it again.

Instead he asks, “Ready?”, tone chipper with just a hint of mania.

“Just gotta put my shoes on,” Liam replies, fiddling with his cuff. He’s wearing _ cufflinks. _“You?”

“No,” Sam admits, with a humorless laugh, smoothing his hands self-consciously over the fabric of his skirt.

He’s dressed even more classily this time than the last: a dress of silky dark gray fabric that drapes in all the right places, wide neck hanging a little off one shoulder, showing off the strap of a lace-panelled basque beneath; the same black seamed stockings and stilettos, and the same subtle makeup.

It makes it worse, somehow, than if Liam had dressed him like he’d stepped straight out of a porno.

Liam sits down beside him, shoes in one hand.

“It’s a really nice place,” he says, as if he’s just making conversation. “We’ll have to walk a few buildings down from the parking lot at the other end, but it’s West Hollywood. You know. We’re not gonna stand out overly much. And the bar’s members only. No pictures.”

“It’s not that.” Although it is a little bit, because Sam would be stupid not to have considered it. “I mean, not entirely.”

He feels the ever-present itch to deflect, but Liam knows him far too well and more importantly, deserves better than his half-assed send-in-the-clowns routine.

“I – can’t help feeling like this is fake.” When Liam looks over, Sam waves a hand to indicate his body. “Kinky sex is one thing, but – I’m not a woman, so what am I playing at.”

He can already imagine walking into the bar like this, a full head taller than Liam and instantly out of place, a fraud in heels.

Liam takes his hands in his, eyes wide with concern. “How do you feel, when you’re dressed up?”

They don’t talk about this, not really. They started out with the words Sam wanted Liam to say to him and took it from there, Liam throwing different things at him to see how he’d take them, and rolling with what Sam gave him in return. And they’ve had a lot of fun in their usual off-the-cuff way, mostly without Sam getting too lost in his own head about it.

But when he isn’t just reacting – when he has time to _ consider _ – that’s when he falters.

Sam’s pulled Liam out of _ his _ own head countless times in their long friendship, so he supposes this is only fair.

“Sexy,” he admits, looking down at their joined hands, the silver paint on his nails.

“Okay. Do you feel sexy when you’re not dressed up?”

“…not really? I mean, I look good sometimes. But expensive clothing can make anyone look good.” He shrugs. “I’m still me underneath it.”

Every time he lets something like that slip he wonders if Liam will call him on it, and is always grateful when he doesn’t.

Liam tilts his head. “So what’s different about this?”

Sam shrugs again. _ Women are sexy? _ But women actually _ are _ women and he isn’t, hence the fake part. “I guess some part of my brain decided that since my dick’s not good for much I should give something else a go?”

This feels like a maze. Like he’s following every twist and turn of his feelings, and it gets him no closer to an answer.

He asks: “Do _ you _ ever feel sexy?”

“In my body? Not really.” He might be a firm believer in talking about feelings, but Liam looks even more put off by the question than Sam was, if that’s possible. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it either. But I’m more used to people liking me for other reasons than my dad bod.”

“Half the internet’s thirsty for you,” Sam points out, feeling his equilibrium returning a little now that Liam’s the one on the back foot.

“Cause I’m funny.”

“We’re both funny. They’re not thirsty for me.”

“_Anyway._” Liam gives him a mock-stern look. “This isn’t fake if it makes you feel something.”

And there, round an unsuspecting corner, the heart of the maze.

“You make it sound so simple,” Sam replies, only half-joking.

“We’re complicated monkeys. But maybe it can be. If we just do what feels good.” Liam cocks his head towards the door. “Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Liam helps Sam into his coat, which is a camel-colored wool too heavy for the season, but is also the coat he had which seemed least inappropriate for this; then once Liam has his own jacket on Sam presses him up against the room door and kisses his lipstick all over Liam’s face, until Liam laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then makes Sam apply it again, so it takes them another ten minutes to get out the door. 

The corridor is deserted. It feels as claustrophobic as Sam does, all soundproofing doors and heavy, dead air; Liam keeps one hand on the small of his back as they walk, as if he’s ready to shield him from anyone they come across. (Sam may be able to see over the top of his head in these heels, but it’s the thought that counts.)

They take the elevator straight down to the parking garage, and though there’s a moment where Sam has to force himself not to freeze when he hears distant footsteps echoing off the concrete, they make it safely to the car. 

He climbs into the passenger seat, and Liam puts a reassuring hand on his knee and squeezes, then starts the engine, as Sam takes a few deep breaths and tries not to think too hard about what he’s doing.

Liam starts a conversation about work as he drives, and though it’s hard to make himself pay attention at first, after a few minutes Sam decides he’s grateful for the normality. Talking to Liam has always been easy, and following a thorough kvetch session about the more annoying sides of their industry complete with Liam’s pitch-perfect impressions of several people they have the misfortune to work with periodically, Sam has almost forgotten how he’s dressed and where they’re going – enough that when Liam says, “Okay, we’re here,” as he pulls off the main road and into the lot, his chest tightens all over again.

They get out and walk across the lot, the street ahead too bright and too busy with people, and when Sam hesitates, he feels the pressure of Liam’s hand on his back once more.

“Don’t worry about other people. We’re doing this for us, not for them.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, stomach churning, and promptly stumbles on an uneven bit of concrete and nearly rolls his ankle, Liam catching his elbow a moment later. “Jesus. What do I even pay my taxes for.”

“Subsidizing oligarchs,” Liam quips. “Okay?”

“Touché. Yeah, it’s fine.” They’re coming up to the street, and he doesn’t want to hold hands or anything, but – “Give me your arm?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Liam replies, a little too softly to be a joke, as Sam rests a hand in the crook of his elbow and tells himself, _head up, tits out,_ _think murder and walk._

He walks down the sidewalk on Liam’s arm, carefully not looking at anyone who passes them, for about a block until Liam pats his hand and says, “This is it.”

It doesn’t look like a bar, or at least not the kind of bar that Sam’s ever been to. There’s no front entrance, for a start – instead Liam steers him into an alleyway, an open door in the wall ahead of them with a bouncer standing beside it, deep red-purple light coming from the interior. If he had to guess, it looks like the kind of place where something illegal would probably be happening.

But Sam trusts Liam with his life and with his kinks, and so he lets him lead him up to the bouncer, a heavyset bald guy with a goatee who’s exactly _ not _the kind of person that Sam would choose to interact with while he’s dressed like this.

“Can I help you?” he asks, like he fully expects not to, and Sam tries his hardest not to shrink.

“Evening. I’m a member,” Liam says, already pulling a card out of his wallet, blood-red with a white, curlicued logo and an embossed number, but no text.

The bouncer takes the card and scrutinizes it for a moment even though there’s basically fuck all on it; then his mouth quirks in what could almost be a smile as he hands it back. “Have a good one,” he says, a little ironically.

“Thanks,” Liam replies, reaching for Sam’s hand, and leading him inside.

They find themselves in a corridor with a front desk slash cloakroom to the right, restrooms to the left, and a heavy velvet curtain ahead of them, music and the sounds of chatter filtering through from the bar beyond. It’s a weirdly relaxing vibe for a place that looks like it’d be better suited to a thumping bassline, though he doesn’t know the song.

His stomach is in knots as they step up to the front desk, but he’s quickly reassured by how bored the young woman behind it looks as she takes their coats. She looks like a dangerous, heavily-tattooed version of a vintage movie star, strikingly made up and her red hair set in waves, and if he’s lucky then he’s the least interesting person she’s seen tonight.

Liam looks at him, not saying anything, but clearly waiting for his signal; and when Sam nods, he leads the way through the curtain, and into the bar.

It’s small, is the first thing he notices – small and dimly lit, baroque wallpaper and wood panelling beneath, small round tables and heavy leather sofas that are mostly full up, a bar along the left wall. The air is close and smoky, as if the whole place is hankering for the days when you could still smoke indoors.

And the clientele is – well, Sam tries not to stare any more than he’d want to be stared at, but it’s still tempting: they’re mostly younger than the two of them, a lot of sharp suits and full skirts, though some of it’s veering into the elaborate underwear territory – but all those sharp suits and full skirts are worn by people of varying genders, with an array of piercings and tattoos and a rainbow of hair colours. If he had to characterize it any one way, maybe speakeasy meets Rocky Horror.

He’s suddenly, piercingly relieved not to be the only one.

Liam steers him over to the bar, and says a little too loudly in his ear. “What would you like?”

Sam half-shrugs. “Wine?”

“‘Kay. Can you look for a table?”

He nervously surveys the room, spotting an empty table round the side of the bar, tapping Liam’s elbow to get his attention before he goes and sits down. They’re mostly shielded from the rest of the room here, though he’s under no illusion that despite the noise and low light, anyone who knew who they were wouldn’t have recognized them already.

Everything in life holds risk, though, and they agreed that this was worth it.

The bar starts playing The Puppini Sisters, which of course he knows, and Sam thinks idly that he should have asked for a gimlet or a martini instead, his toe tapping reflexively under the table. This seems like a cocktails kind of place.

A minute later Liam pulls out the chair opposite, putting two glasses of red wine in front of them and sitting down, rolling up his sleeves. Sam doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s looking at the muscles flexing in his forearms.

“I feel underdressed without a petticoat,” he half-shouts, the edge of the table digging into his stomach as he leans forward.

Liam quirks a relieved smile as he leans in, mirroring him. “D’you like?”

“Yeah.” He thinks so, anyway, and when he takes a long sip of his wine – it’s wine at a bar, but it’s not too terrible – he feels the knot that’s been in his stomach all evening loosen just a little. “It’s cozy. In an illicit kind of a way. When did you find this place?”

“Six weeks ago. I brought Marisha to try it out.” He grins. “She was the queen of the dance floor.”

For the first time this evening, Sam laughs. “Did she lead you?”

“After a fashion. I attempted to keep up.” Liam hesitates. “I think she guessed I wanted somewhere to bring you. No other specifics, though.”

Sam nods. “How many Critters do you think are in this room?”

Liam shrugs. “It’s a non-zero chance. But that’s true anywhere. Is it bothering you?”

He only needs a moment to consider. “Nah. Even if there are, no photos.”

They’re silent for a few moments, sipping their drinks, Sam watching the occasional movement to and from the bar. Most people are coming and going through the far door where the music’s loudest, which undoubtedly leads to the dance floor.

“Are you happy?”

Sam blinks. “Right now, or in general?”

“Both?”

They’re going deep, then, because trust Liam to be Liam.

“Yeah. Both.” He thinks for a moment. “I mean, there’s not enough hours in the day,” he adds, just as Liam stifles a yawn behind his hand.

“Tell me about it. My kingdom for naptime.”

“But I love everything I do. Work, family, the game. You.” 

“I love it when you do me too,” Liam says predictably, and Sam laughs even though he set him up for that one. “But seriously. After my family I love you the most of anyone and I want you in my life forever. Even if we fuck up the fucking part.”

“Aww. Same, to all of it.” He’d feel weird about kissing him, even members-only, but Sam puts his hand over Liam’s on the table. “Though I don’t know how we could fuck it up at this point. I mean, we’ve done pretty great so far. You even tolerate my weird kinks.”

“I don’t _ tolerate _ your weird kinks. I _ get off on _ your weird kinks,” Liam points out. “The distinction’s important.” He pauses, and Sam can more or less hear him thinking. “Does it feel different to you?”

“_We _don’t, if that’s what you mean?” Liam nods. “I mean, I loved you before anyway. Though not gonna lie, it was weird for a bit there.”

_ Weird _ is an understatement: Liam, oh-so-casually mentioning one day he’d had a thing for him for years like he thought Sam had just had it figured it out the _ entire time _ and decided to never say anything; how fucking _ crushed _ Liam looked when he realized Sam actually had no idea at all, and how scared; a month of very long conversations with Q while he tried to figure out what he wanted and what he could do about this – if anything – while trying to reassure Liam he wasn’t losing him; finally kissing him only to find out he hadn’t even _ asked _ Amy because he was so convinced it was never ever gonna happen and then having to wait for _ that _too –

After coming through that whole fire, telling him everything that was going on in the bedroom department was not even quite as terrifying as it probably should have been.

“But we figured it out,” he finishes, squeezing Liam’s fingers. “And we’re still us. Just with more orgasms and even less time.”

“Yeah. And as much as I love playing fifties housewife with you, I wanna make sure we still take time to actually be friends as well. Goof off, talk about the deep stuff.” 

“Sure. I’d rather be friends,” Sam admits. “If I had to choose.”

Liam grins. “Give it two years, we’ll be back to just cuddling anyway.”

“I think you underestimate our sheer sexual magnetism.” Sam drains his glass. “So. How do people dance here?”

“Swing and swing-adjacent. Which I think I can just about manage. Unless you’re Marisha, of course.”

“I have many great qualities, but that’s not one of them. So. May I have this dance?”

Liam stands up, not letting go of Sam’s hand. “It would be my pleasure.”

It’s probably not much to look at: Liam appears to remember some of the basics from his swing days and mostly manages to lead Sam rather than the other way round; Sam himself concentrates on the tits and teeth and not worrying too much about where his feet are landing, or the fact that there are at least three couples manoeuvring their way around them who look like they _ actually _know how to dance.

But as they ease into a slow number, Sam pulling Liam close and giving up the pretense of letting him lead, he reflects that it’s not about being _ good. _ It’s about being _ together. _

“We should take lessons,” he says in Liam’s ear a couple songs later as they head back to the bar, his feet starting to ache.

Liam looks at him, amused. “_When _should we take lessons.”

“I can pencil you in for 2030 when my children go to college?” He drops into a stage-whisper. “I love watching them grow and all. But there’s a part of me that absolutely can’t wait.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” They hesitate in the center of the room, which has filled up noticeably in their absence; their table’s gone. “Another drink?”

“Nah. Let’s just go. If we leave now then we’ll still have time for a quickie at least.”

“Alright. Ladies first.”

Once they’re safely in the car and Liam’s pulling out of the lot, Sam adjusts his skirt over his lap and says, “Thank you. I had a good time.”

“Welcome.” Liam’s eyes are on the road, but Sam can see his smile in profile. “Did it help things make a bit more sense?”

“Maybe?” He didn’t feel any kind of kinship with his fellow bar-goers, though he’s also not sure if there’s a reason he should have. “I mean, I enjoyed myself for sure. But it wasn’t like, the thing I didn’t know I needed.”

“I getcha.” Liam’s hand reaches out and squeezes Sam’s knee. “If you feel the itch, then…”

“Yeah.” Once he got over his initial trepidation, it was more comfortable than exciting, he decides; certainly none of that tightrope thrill he feels in the bedroom. It wasn’t that much different than going anywhere else with Liam, he was just dressed different. “I think it’s more of a sex thing, though.”

“Sure. And longer scenes are a thing we could try. Like keeping the dynamic for the whole evening?”

“How are you thinking?” Sam asks, mouth suddenly dry.

“I’m thinking you show up early and get yourself ready for me.” Liam’s voice is low and intent over the background hum of his Spotify playlist, as Sam’s mind starts to race – dresses, lingerie, a _ plug _ –

“I’m not very good at being early.”

“You’d learn.” Liam smiles, still not looking at Sam, like he’s enjoying a private joke. “With a bit of carrot and stick.”

“I assume the carrot’s your dick,” Sam manages, his pulse starting to thump insistently between his legs.

“I think you’re getting the idea –” Liam swears and throws his hands in the air as a car cuts across two lanes in front of them, too much speed in too little space. “Jesus. Does that guy have a death wish.”

“No-one can drive in this town. They’re probably an Uber.”

“Probably,” Liam agrees, as he takes the exit back towards their hotel.

A quarter of an hour later they’re back in their room, Sam sitting down on the bed and kicking his shoes off with a wince as Liam pours him minibar wine into a cup from the bathroom, reflecting that he’s going to have to start carrying his own glasses around at this rate.

When he hands it to Sam, he takes a sip – and immediately shoots Liam a look of betrayal. “This is cold._ Fridge _ cold!”

Liam shrugs. “Minibar. I’m surprised you didn’t bring your own wine.”

“I won’t make that mistake again, believe me. Is there a white?”

“There’s a Chardonnay.”

“Never mind.” 

“Snob.”

“I make no apology,” Sam informs him loftily.

“Cheers, wine snob.” Liam clinks his sparkling water against Sam’s wine as he sits down beside him, loosening his tie with his other hand, forearms flexing. 

Sometimes it’s just _ weird _ to look at him and think that they’re lovers now. That he can kiss Liam, touch him in ways he couldn’t before, and have him respond in kind. That they’re _ in love, _ when this time last year he wouldn’t have thought it possible – that his ridiculous best friend even _ could _ be someone he’d ever feel this way about.

“Cheers,” he echoes, and there must be something in his voice because Liam shoots him a bemused look.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“It _ is _your face,” Sam tells him, and then, “I’m just having a moment. Of the ‘I can’t believe we ended up here’ kind.”

Liam was always the one who was not-quite-straight, the one who’d apparently spent years carrying a silent torch; Sam was the one rolling obliviously along on the freeway of life, missing his exit over and over because he’d never even thought to look for it. If not for a single self-deprecating joke that landed wrong then he’d probably still be there now.

When Liam smiles, it looks a little like he still can’t believe his luck.

“Pretty great, huh?”

“The thing I didn’t know I needed,” Sam agrees, and leans in for a kiss.

Thirty seconds later, face flushed and glasses askew, Liam asks, “What do you want tonight?”

“Uh. I kind of – I’d rather not?” Sam’s voice goes all high at the end there, Liam frowning even as he’s nodding, just a little concerned. “I mean – I do _ want _ to. But I don’t think I want to like –” He hopes that his vague handwaving will somehow indicate the concept of kinky stuff. “Maybe we could just.” He only just stops himself from actually saying _ make love. _

“I’m gonna need you to finish at least one of those sentences,” Liam says, but his fingers are curling against Sam’s jaw like he already knows.

When in doubt, make it funny. “Look into my eyes and make sweet sweet love to me?”

Liam laughs a little, but his expression’s also soft and knowing as he says, “Sure. We can do that.”

Sam necks his wine, and puts their empty cups on the desk before walking back to stand between Liam’s legs, time seeming to slow as he does.

Sometimes he feels moments from breaking apart, he’s strung so tight with fear and wanting, and he doesn’t know how Liam makes saying how you feel look so easy.

He prefers to throw himself in head-first, and see what sticks.

They kiss and kiss, only breaking apart for long enough to remove clothing and kiss the new skin that’s uncovered, until they’re both naked but for Sam’s stockings, which Liam can’t stop running his hands over as he lays him out on the hotel bed. Sam’s dick has actually gotten the memo for once, and with the help of a cock ring he manages to give Liam something worth swallowing down, his hand in his hair and heels on his back, and his own heart full to bursting.

Once he’s sleepy and satiated Liam rolls him over mostly onto his front, dribbles lube down his ass crack and fucks him there, fingering the lace on his thigh as he holds his legs closed. There’s always a frisson to being used like this, to being nothing other than what Liam wants, pressing hot kisses to the nape of Sam’s neck as he chases his own pleasure.

Liam waits until he’s cleaned Sam up and is curling around him beneath the covers before he says, “It’s ten past ten.”

Sam sighs. He doesn’t mind _ going _per se, but he does mind having to get up and dressed and call an Uber when he’s tired and a little drunk and comfy in Liam’s arms. “Half hour?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Family comes first. It always will, they all agreed as much, and if that means he and Liam can almost never fall asleep together, then that’s the way it has to be.

“Next time… I wanna be your girl. For the evening.”

It’s never _ easy, _ exactly, but like this it’s _ easier, _in this intimate post-coital space with Liam’s arms around him, holding him close.

Liam kisses the back of his neck, his breath hot against Sam’s skin. “Tell me about it?”

Sam takes a deep breath; and for the next twenty minutes, he does.


End file.
